


while the foursome plays on borrowed days

by saddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Crack, Double Penetration, Foursome - M/M/M/M, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Logic, The Author Regrets Everything, don't read this if you're not blastellanos, don't take this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/pseuds/saddestboner
Summary: José’s never been one to back down from a challenge and he’s not about to start now.





	while the foursome plays on borrowed days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blastellanos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/gifts).



> This is the most ridiculous porn ever. If you're looking for... earth logic here, just know that there is none. 
> 
> [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/08/635889160634916533-tigers-012015-kd-15.jpg) is Justin Upton. [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/08/635634017460929401-smg-20150327-ajw-db1-06.jpg) is James McCann. [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/08/maxresdefault.jpg) is Mikie Mahtook. [This](http://nullrefer.com/?https://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2017/08/iggy.png) is José Iglesias.
> 
> Happy birthday [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/profile)[**blastellanos**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/blastellanos/). Time for me to go fly into the sun :| NOW YOU GO WRITE YOUR THING FOR ME!!!! >:O
> 
> Apologies to Jimmy Buffet for stealing a line from "Prince of Tides" for the title.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

José’s never been one to back down from a challenge and he’s not about to start now. He shoots McCann, J-Up, and Mikie eye daggers and rolls the sleeves of his workout shirt up. One of them—he thinks it’s Mikie—laughs though, since it’s Mikie, it’s good-natured and friendly. 

“What you saying, you don’t think I can bench press?” José asks, glaring first at J-Up then McCann and finally Mikie. “You think because I’m little I’m not strong?”

J-Up laughs and crosses his arms over his chest. His laughter is rich, with just a hint of rasp. José tries not to think about that too much. “You’re, what, a buck eighty soaking wet?”

“One-eighty-five!” José protests.

It’s McCann’s turn to laugh now. _His_ laughter is nothing but sharp corners and rough edges. José’s reminded of why he doesn’t really like McCann all that much. “In your dreams, maybe,” he teases.

“I’ll show you,” José says.

“Now don’t go gettin’ delusions of grandeur on us, Iggy,” Mikie says, patting José on the shoulder. His hand lingers, squeezes down a little bit. “You don’t gotta prove nothin’ to us.”

“Yes, he does,” J-Up says.

“I’m with J-Up here,” McCann says, looking smug. 

José doesn’t think he knows how to make any other facial expressions. 

“You tell me how much weight to lift and I’ll lift it,” José says, decisively.

He doesn’t miss the look that passes from McCann to J-Up behind Mikie’s back. Mikie’s a good guy and José appreciates that he’s looking out for him, but he’s going to prove them wrong. He can’t let this slight against his character go unchallenged.

“Bench press... Mac’s weight,” J-Up says, patting McCann on the chest. 

José glances over at McCann and raises his eyebrows. McCann always puts on a little extra weight during the winter. He’s probably pushing two-thirty, two-thirty-five right now. 

“What do I get out of it?” José asks.

“I think we can work something out,” McCann chimes in, with a smile.

Mikie glances at José. “You think you’re up for it?”

“Always,” José says. He flexes his arm and kisses his bicep.

Mikie laughs and pats José on the shoulder. “So, how we doin’ this, fellas?” he asks, leaving his hand on José’s shoulder.

José gestures to the weight bench he’d been using when the three of them barged into the weight room and interrupted his workout session.

“I think that works just fine,” José quips.

“Actually, I’ve got a better idea,” J-Up says. “Bench press McCann.”

José stares at J-Up. “What? I can’t do that!”

“He can’t do that,” McCann says.

“Why not?” Mikie asks, looking skeptical. 

The tops of McCann’s cheeks are slashed with red. “Because—”

“He’s fat,” José finishes.

“I am not,” McCann snipes, turning on him, hands curling into fists.

“Guys, chill.” J-Up lifts his hands and gives them the universal signal for _settle the fuck down_. “For all we know, you could cheat with the weights. Slip lighter weights on or something. We know how much McCann weighs. That way we’d know for sure who’s right and who’s wrong.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Mikie admits.

“So? You in?” J-Up asks. He seems to be addressing both José and McCann now.

José sighs. He wants to just tell the three of them that this is silly and pointless and he’s out, but he can’t resist a challenge.

“Okay,” José says, “I’m in.”

***

José grits his teeth and breathes out hard through his nose. Sweat beads across his forehead and on his upper lip.

“How you doin’ over there?” J-Up calls out.

“Fine,” José huffs. 

“Stop moving so much,” McCann complains, squirming a bit.

He starts to slip out of José’s grasp and he feels his knees buckling.

“Mikie, get in there,” J-Up yells. 

José feels his feet starting to slip out from under him and McCann lands on the ground with a heavy thud before Mikie can get to them.

“Did I do it?” José asks, doubling over and bracing himself with his hands on his knees.

“No.” McCann’s weary voice drifts up from the floor. “You did not.”

“Yeah, man, I think you just took the ‘L’ here,” Mikie says, patting José on the back. “Nice effort, though.”

“Nice effort,” McCann says, bitterly, sitting up slowly. “ _Nice effort_.”

“So, now what?” José asks, mopping at his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

Mikie whacks José’s stomach with the back of his hand. “I think you gotta pay up now, bud.”

José pushes Mikie’s hand away and reaches into the pockets of his shorts, pulling them inside out. “I got nothin’,” he says.

J-Up meanders over and bends down to give Mccann a hand and help him back to his feet. “I think we need to deliberate,” J-Up says.

McCann rubs at the small of his back and winces. “I think I need to go see the trainer.”

“Huddle up, fellas,” Mikie says, motioning the other two closer. 

José steps back, watching them curiously, fingers twisting in his sweat-damp workout shirt. Usually, these kinds of silly bets end in golf trips, free meals, promises you never intend to keep and your teammates never intend to cash in on. They do seem to be thinking really long and hard about this, though. Mikie looks back over at José a couple times, then pops back into the huddle. 

Finally, after a couple minutes, the three of them come back over to where José’s waiting.

McCann stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, looking mildly irritated. Mikie has a serene smile on his face and J-Up just looks like a cat that’s caught a canary.

“We’ve come to a decision,” Mikie says, glancing at J-Up and then McCann. He looks back at José. 

“Yes?” José prompts.

“You take care of us and we’ll consider your debt paid,” J-Up finishes.

“Take care? How?” José asks.

McCann screws his face into a scowl but says nothing.

“You scratch our backs, we scratch yours, everyone wins in the end,” Mikie says, beaming.

“Wait,” José says, lifting a hand. “You mean you want me to...” He flicks his eyes at McCann, who’s very much not looking at José, then Mikie and finally J-Up. “You want me to, uh. Satisfy you?”

“Good Lord,” McCann says, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “They want to bang you.”

“Oh,” José says. And, suddenly, there’s sweat beading on his forehead again. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. “ _Oh_.”

“So... Whaddaya say?” Mikie asks.

José tilts his head and considers J-Up. He’s a good-looking guy, there’s no denying that. José’s had a no-teammates policy since his minor league days, but he’d be willing to make an exception for J-Up.

José moves on to Mikie, looking him up and down. He’s not bad on the eyes either. He’s always wanted to feel Mikie’s strong, muscular forearms around him. Yeah, José could get down with Mikie.

He looks at McCann. McCann is still not looking at him. His face is bright red in either embarrassment or anger or both. José’s not sure about McCann, in fact he’s pretty sure McCann doesn’t even like him. But he’s big and tall and thick. And precisely José’s type.

“Okay,” José says, turning his attention back to Mikie.

Mikie grins. “ _Laissez les bons temps rouler._ ”

***

José sits cross-legged in the center of his bed, in his empty hotel room, and occasionally steals a nervous look at the digital alarm clock on his nightstand. Mikie, J-Up, and McCann will be coming by any minute to collect their dues.

A soft knock on his hotel room door snaps José out of his drifting, idle thoughts, and he gets up to answer it. McCann barges past him and makes a beeline for the minibar, while Mikie greets him with a friendly pat on the back and shoves a six-pack of beer into José’s arms. J-Up comes over and gets his knuckles in José’s hair, with a measure of affection.

“Hey,” José says, holding the beer against his chest.

“Yo,” Mikie says. 

“How you wanna do this?” José asks.

“The usual way?” Mikie asks, shrugging.

“I mean...” José sighs and puts the six-pack over by the minibar.

McCann turns, a bottle of water in hand. “The usual way,” he echoes, making a face at Mikie. “What the hell did you guys do in Tampa?”

Mikie laughs, leaning over to pat McCann between the shoulder blades. “Trust me, brother, you do _not_ wanna know.”

McCann’s cheeks redden slightly. “Oh. Well.”

José laughs too and he catches Mikie’s eye. Mikie grins and winks at him.

José looks away, cheeks flushing with a pleasant warmth. 

J-Up tosses himself onto the bed, crosses his ankles, and folds his arms beneath his head. “We doin’ this or what, guys?” he asks.

“Who died and made you king,” McCann mutters.

“Hey, look. I’m trying to get this show on the road while you’re all fucking around over there,” J-Up says, waving a hand in their general direction.

Mikie steps up behind José and slips his hands over his shoulders. “Whaddaya wanna do, Iggy? This’s your deal,” Mikie says. “You’re callin’ the shots.”

“I am?” José asks.

“Well, unless you don’t wanna,” Mikie says, with a warm laugh.

José _hmm_ s thoughtfully. “I have an idea.”

“Spit it out,” J-Up says.

“I want you at the same time,” he says, giving meaningful looks to all three.

“How’s that work?” McCann asks, scrunching his forehead. “There’s three of us and, well...”

José gives McCann another meaningful look. “There’re ways to make it work.”

“Oh,” Mikie says, tightening his hands on José’s shoulders. “Oh, man.”

J-Up sits up straight. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“I don’t underst—” McCann starts, but J-Up shuts him up with a look.

“José, c’mon over here,” he says, patting the empty spot on the bed next to him. “Bring Mikie with you too.”

The two of them go over to where J-Up is reclining on the bed. McCann stands at the end and works on his bottled water, looking mildly constipated. 

José crawls onto the bed next to J-Up and Mikie piles in after him, turning to look at McCann.

“You comin’ too?” Mikie asks, giving him a pointed eyebrow raise.

McCann puts his water down on the dresser and sighs. “Sure, fine.”

McCann climbs after them and squeezes in between José and Mikie. His breath skitters across the back of José’s neck and he shivers into J-Up’s side a little bit. José feels a hand—he thinks it’s Mikie’s—resting on his hip.

“This’s a good start,” J-Up says.

José sits up and lifts his arms to tug his T-shirt off. A hand lands on his stomach and he feels another one on his back, helping him pull his shirt over his head. 

Fingernails scratch lightly down José’s chest, to his stomach. He’s not sure whose hand it is. José shivers again and his hips brush back against someone else’s. The hand on his hip squeezes.

Fingers slip over the waistband of José’s shorts and start to pull them down. He thinks they’re James’s. And he’s pretty sure that’s McCann’s cock—not completely hard but getting there—pressing against his ass. He grinds back against him and a soft, harsh breath curls against his neck. 

“Shit,” McCann says.

Someone laughs. It sounds like J-Up.

José helpfully wriggles out of his shorts and underwear. McCann’s blue jeans scrape against the backs of his thighs, and J-Up’s sweats brush against his front. Tiny buttons press into José’s back, between his shoulder blades. Mikie’s hand slips from his hip.

“I’m feelin’ a little left out over here.” Mikie leans over McCann to squeeze José’s chin in his fingers, turns his face toward him.

Mikie, still gripping José gently by the chin, ducks his head down and licks into his mouth. José feels McCann’s hands tighten on his hips. 

“ _Shit_.” This time it’s J-Up. 

Mikie slips away and then a mouth latches onto José’s neck and sucks gently. And the fingers squeezing on José’s hip let go to brush against his cock. The lips on José’s neck part and there’s a sharp sting as they bite down gently. José reaches a hand back and his palm collides with a stubbly cheek. It’s definitely McCann. 

“Here,” J-Up is saying, shifting his hips against José’s as crawls over José. “Lie down here.”

“What’re you doin’,” McCann mutters, fingers sliding away from José’s cock.

José sighs softly.

“I got an idea,” J-Up says.

“What sorta idea,” José asks, though he moves where J-Up told him to move.

J-Up sits back and pulls off his shirt. José runs his eyes admiringly over his arms and chest, before a hand closes around his shoulder and pulls him back. 

“Hey,” McCann is whispering right in his ear.

“Mm?” José turns toward him.

“Don’t forget about us.” McCann traces his fingers over José’s throat.

Mikie reaches out, over McCann’s shoulder, and tugs at José’s hair gently.

“What’re we gonna do?” José speaks up, his voice sticking in his throat.

Mikie draws his fingers through José’s hair. “Whaddaya say, J-Up? What’s this idea of yours?”

“I saw this in a porno once,” J-Up starts, and someone tosses a pillow at his face. He shoves the pillow aside. “Fuck you, Mahtook.”

“Hey, man, wasn’t me.” Mikie throws up his hands in self-defense and José misses his fingers scratching through his hair. 

“Sure it wasn’t. Anyways,” J-Up continues. “There was this guy, and he kinda looked like Iggy a little bit. Kinda on the small side but thick thighs and he had this ass—”

“Get to the point,” McCann interrupts, shifting his hips a little against José’s.

José presses back against him and feels his fingers dig into his side.

“Right, so, these other two dudes took turns railing this guy while the third guy fucked his throat, and—”

“Wow,” Mikie says.

McCann’s fingers dig even harder into José’s side. “You want to—to DP José,” he says.

J-Up makes a face at him. “What? No, I was saying we could take turns. Who said anything about DPing him.”

“What’s DP stand for,” Mikie asks. “Double play?”

“Dude,” McCann says.

“What?” Mikie asks.

J-Up sighs and rolls his eyes. “Have you _never_ seen a porno in your life?”

“Of course I’ve seen pornos! Just never _that_ kind of porno, I guess,” Mikie says, huffing defensively. 

McCann lets go of José’s hip and rubs a little bit. “Whaddaya think about that, José,” he asks.

“Sounds fun,” José says, glancing over his shoulder at McCann and then Mikie. He looks back at J-Up. “I think I’d like that.”

J-Up leans in and presses his lips over José’s softly, cupping him gently by the chin. José kisses back eagerly, sliding his hands over J-Up’s strong forearms. 

McCann sits up behind him and José’s vaguely aware of the rustling of fabric and the dipping of the mattress as he slips out of his clothes. He settles back behind José, bare chest pressing against his back. His hand wraps back around José’s hip.

“I’m feelin’ kinda left out again,” Mikie singsongs.

“Preachin’ to the choir,” McCann chirps.

J-Up breaks the kiss and pulls back. “You guys’ll get your turn. I’m just settin’ the mood, all right?”

José laughs and slips his arms around J-Up’s neck, pulling him back down to continue their kiss. 

McCann’s hand slides across José’s stomach and dips into the waistband of his shorts. His fingers brush, almost tentatively, over José’s hard on.

José breaks the kiss and reaches back, patting McCann on the cheek. “Is okay, you can touch.”

McCann takes the advice to heart, apparently, and wraps his hand firmly around José’s cock. He presses his mouth against José’s shoulder and he feels the slight sting of teeth as McCann bites down gently and sucks at the bare skin there.

Mikie crawls over both of them and sprawls over their tangled legs to rest his head on J-Up’s knee. José smiles down at him and scoots closer, hand closing around the back of Mikie’s neck as he tugs him up to kiss him. 

Mikie presses his mouth against José’s in a soft gentle little kiss, then leans back to flash him a grin. “You enjoyin’ yourself yet?”

“I am,” José says, letting go of Mikie. “But I think I’m gonna enjoy myself more when you’re fucking me.”

“Oh, you pick _him_?” McCann stills his hand over José’s cock.

“What can I say, man? I’m charming,” Mikie says, throwing up his hands.

J-Up gives him a nudge in the back and McCann flips a pillow into his face. 

Mikie shoves past J-Up’s knee and leans in, sliding his mouth over José’s. He squeezes a big warm hand over José’s knee. He nibbles on José’s lips and pushes his tongue into his mouth, dirtying it up a little bit. Mikie catches José around the back of the neck and curls his fingers his hair. 

McCann squirms behind José, shifting his hips away. He slides his hand back into José’s boxers and starts stroking his fingers down his dick. He rolls his hips forward and grinds his cock against José’s ass.

José can’t help but moan into Mikie’s mouth.

“Do that again,” Mikie mumbles against José’s lips, “I think he liked it.”

McCann holds onto José’s waist and rolls his hips again. He’s still wearing his pants, and the material drags against overheated skin. 

Mikie reaches down, sliding a hand into the waistband of his own pants. “You sure you’re up for this, Iggy?” he teases, as he nudges his pants slowly down his hips.

“I’m up for everything, always,” José insists.

Mikie laughs.

“Famous last words,” J-Up says.

***

“Oh my God—”

“Don’t you dare take the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Mac, shut up.”

José opens his eyes and blinks a bit at the scene unfolding in front of his face. Mikie and McCann are standing in front of the bed, naked and glaring at each other, both red-faced and sweaty. McCann’s hair is clinging to his forehead and the sides of his face. Mikie’s looks perfect and windswept, as if a sea breeze came in through the open window and ruffled it just so.

“You guys gonna stop bitching and moaning or what,” J-Up calls out to them from his spot on the bed, laconically, draping an arm over José’s shoulders.

José rests his head on J-Up’s shoulder. “What’re they fighting about?”

“Who needs ’em.” J-Up scoffs and turns his head, kissing José slowly.

“They’re gettin’ started without us ’cause you’re bein’ weird,” Mikie says, pointing over to the bed.

“I’m not being weird,” McCann protests, clenching his hands into fists.

“Look, if you don’t wanna do this the door’s over there,” Mikie says, pointing.

McCann glances back over at the bed and José catches his eye. His face looks redder now, and José had no idea that was even possible. 

“Man, you don’t have to stick around,” Mikie continues, still pointing. “This’s supposed to be a fun thing and if you ain’t havin’ fun, you don’t have to be here.”

“It’s not _un-fun_ ,” McCann mutters, darkly.

José breaks away from J-Up and sits up, still holding McCann’s gaze. “Come here.”

McCann points to himself, lifting his eyebrows in question, and José lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Yes, I mean you. Come here,” José says again, holding a hand out to him.

McCann edges closer to José’s hand until he gets close enough that José just grabs him by the wrist and pulls him onto the mattress. He lands on his back between José and J-Up with an _oof_.

“What’s your deal,” José asks.

“Huh?” McCann stares up at him, as the red slowly starts creeping down from his cheeks to his neck, his shoulders.

“You don’t wanna do this?” José asks. “That’s fine.”

“I… I do,” he stammers.

“Why you making fights with Mikie?” 

Mikie crawls onto the bed too and squeezes behind José, hooking a big, strong arm across his chest.

José tracks the movement of McCann’s eyes as they flick down from his face to the arm that wraps around him.

José smirks and reaches out for McCann, tracing his fingers along the gold chain that dangles over his bare chest. 

“Are you jealous?” José asks. “No one’s paying attention to you.”

“That’s not it,” McCann grumbles, reaching up like he’s going to brush José’s hand away. 

“You jealous of me? You want Mikie to fuck you too?” José teases, hooking his finger in McCann’s gold chain.

“I do not,” he says firmly, scowling.

José tugs him in. “You jealous of J-Up ’cause he’s gonna fuck me first?” he asks, leaning in closer. 

“No,” McCann says, his voice wavering just a bit.

“You want to fuck me instead,” José smirks and brushes his lips lightly against McCann’s. “Or maybe you want me to fuck you.”

“Shit, José,” McCann mumbles against his lips.

“We got all night,” José says, kissing him quickly. “And I got a lot of stamina.” 

McCann stares at him a little helplessly when he pulls back, this dumbstruck look on his face. José just grins at him, draws his hand away from his chest slowly, and turns his attention back to J-Up.

J-Up pushes José onto his back and presses a hand against his chest. He kneels over José and he stares up at him and holds his breath. Waits. 

“Mikie,” J-Up says, tapping Mikie on the shoulder, “you get behind him. McCannon, c’mon over here.”

McCann crawls over to where J-Up’s pointing, near José’s head. 

José pats him on the knee. “You can fuck my mouth.”

McCann chokes. 

José just laughs.

J-Up slicks his fingers with lube and pushes José’s thighs apart with his knees. José watches his fingers as they dip between his legs. He feels Mikie’s breath stuttering on the back of his neck.

His fingers are cold and wet, and it’s unpleasant at first. Mikie strokes a hand down José’s chest in soothing circles. McCann slides his fingers into José’s hair and pushes it off his sweaty forehead.

“How you feelin’?” J-Up asks, looking up and flashing José his teeth.

“Good,” José says, nodding, “is good.”

“You want more?” J-Up wriggles his fingers.

“Yes,” José says. “I can do more.”

Mikie slides his hand lower on José’s chest and buries his face against his shoulder. His hand wraps around José’s cock and starts stroking lazily. José lifts his eyes and watches as McCann follows the movements of Mikie’s hand as it moves up and down his shaft with his eyes.

J-Up adds a second finger and a third, then starts thrusting. José closes his eyes and tips his head back, against Mikie’s shoulder. 

“You like that?” Mikie asks.

“Nice,” José says, sighing softly.

Fingers stroke against his cheek and José opens his eyes. McCann pushes his thumb past José’s lips and he sucks it deeper, before biting gently. José swirls the tip of his tongue around the pad of McCann’s thumb. 

“You need more? Or you ready for us?” J-Up asks, lifting his head and wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I need a little more,” José says.

J-Up waggles four fingers at him and José nods. McCann’s hand closes around his shoulder and his neatly trimmed nails dig into José’s skin.

J-Up adds a fourth finger and José presses his head against McCann’s knee. His fingers are thick and strong and there’s the slightest ache building. Mikie squirms behind him and his cock—hard, wet—rubs against the back of his thigh and J-Up’s knuckles. 

“Okay,” José gasps, reaching out for J-Up blindly, a hand landing on his arm, “okay, I think I’m good.”

“Mm, okay,” he says, stilling his fingers.

José opens his eyes and looks up at McCann again. His eyes are trained on J-Up’s hand—his fingers—as he slowly starts to pull them free. 

“Like what you see?” J-Up teases him as he slips his fingers away from—out of—José.

“I—I—shit.” McCann fumbles for words.

J-Up throws his head back and laughs, as he produces a strip of condoms and some more lube. 

José watches avidly as J-Up rips open the wrapper and rolls the condom on, and then tosses the strip of condoms to Mikie. 

Mikie rolls away from José to deal with the condoms and José sighs sadly at the momentary loss of his warmth behind him. 

McCann laughs, fondly, and his fingers find their way into José’s hair again, tugging his head back a little bit to expose his throat. He leans down and fixes his mouth under José’s jawline, sucking on the skin there hard enough to sting. His fingernails scrape against the side of José’s face when he drags his hand away.

José sighs again and closes his eyes. 

Mikie slips back in behind José, and the head of his cock presses against his ass. His hands grab for José’s hips and his teeth find a strip of skin between José’s jawline and his shoulder. José reaches back, curling a hand over Mikie’s thigh, feeling the muscles tense and shift under his sweat-damp skin as he moves his hips.

“Ah, Jesus,” Mikie groans, tightening his grip. 

McCann huffs—disapprovingly, José thinks, foggily—but doesn’t try to pick a fight with him this time.

José glances over his shoulder at Mikie; his temples glisten with sweat and his hair finally looks less than perfect, plastered against the sides of his rapidly reddening face. 

“You feel so—”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” José cuts him off.

J-Up puts a hand on José’s shoulder and guides him back against Mikie so that he can make some room for himself. Mikie hooks an arm around José’s waist and holds him against his chest.

José squeezes his eyes shut as J-Up moves a hand up José’s thigh to his hip. Mikie twitches his hips and José bites down hard on his bottom lip.

Then J-Up is rolling on top of him and José can feel his fingers pressing against his hole, brushing against Mikie’s cock. He grins down at José, ducks his head to kiss him lightly and bite at his bottom lip. 

J-Up presses in, slowly, fingers wrapping loosely around José’s knee. Mikie groans and it vibrates against José’s back. 

“Ah, shit.” Mikie’s voice sounds suddenly loud in José’s ear, and his breath is hot and damp as it sweeps over José’s overheated skin.

J-Up is careful, moving deliberately, even though José can tell from the tension in the muscles of his arms that he wants to go hard. He wants to let go, but he’s holding a part of himself back.

It’s almost too much. José had always thought that was a cliché. There’s not too much that overwhelms him anymore, but this—Mikie and J-Up, and even James, who’s just sitting there beside him—comes pretty close to overwhelming.

They start moving then, J-Up and Mikie, hands gripping on José’s hips and thighs. The two of them go slowly at first, as if giving José’s brain time to catch up. 

Mikie’s breath is hot on his neck, coming in short bursts. His fingers slide against José’s sweat-slick skin.

“God,” Mikie rasps into the damp hair at the back of José’s neck. “Ah, God.”

McCann doesn’t even say anything this time. He just rubs his fingers in José’s hair a little more aggressively, petting out his irritation at Mikie daring to take the Lord’s name in vain during an orgy. 

José is wrapped up in Mikie and J-Up, framed by their bodies, held together by their hands. Their breath skims over his fevered skin, raising goosebumps, and their mouths press against his neck, his shoulder. Teeth graze and sting and nails dig into his hips and thighs until they ache. It’s a pleasant ache. He loses himself to it, stops fighting it, lets it overwhelm him.

Fingers pressing against his cheek bring him back a little bit and José opens his eyes. McCann looks down at him and rubs his thumb against José’s bottom lip.

“You feeling left out?” José’s surprised he can still make words.

“Nah, not yet,” he says, rubbing his thumb some more. “I’m enjoying the view.”

José smiles up at him, a tired twitch of his lips. McCann’s fingers move away from his face.

“You’re just fine watching?” José asks.

McCann traces his fingers over the corner of José’s mouth. “Yeah.”

José opens his mouth to respond—fire off some smart-assed retort—but J-Up does something with his hips that steals the breath out of his lungs and makes him choke on his words.

McCann laughs quietly.

“You liked that, huh,” J-Up says, sounding pleased. 

“Please,” José begs, not really sure what he’s begging for.

J-Up does it again and José presses his face against McCann’s—his thigh, José thinks. He lost track of body parts a while ago. 

José feels like he’s running a fever. Or like he ran a marathon, though he’s never run a marathon before so he couldn’t possibly know how that feels. The blood in his veins turned to lava and it’s burning him up from the inside.

“Hey, McCannon,” J-Up calls out, stilling the movement of his hips. “Why don’t you make yourself useful?”

McCann pulls his eyes away from José to give J-Up a look. “Huh?”

“Get your hands on him,” J-Up says.

José wonders if he will.

McCann lets his eyes drift down to José’s dick. “Oh, okay.”

McCann slides his hand between their waists and wraps his fingers around José. He draws back a breath as his fingers come in contact with his slick, overheated skin, and brush over the head of his cock. José can tell just from how he’s touching him that McCann hasn’t done this much. 

José stares up at him. “Do what you like,” he says.

McCann looks at him, eyes widening, like he forgot José was even there. “What?”

“What you like. To get yourself off.” José sighs.

“Oh.” McCann pulls his hand away and spits in his palm before wrapping it back around José’s cock. He works his way slowly down José’s shaft, fingers slippery with saliva and pre-come. 

“So gentle,” José teases.

Mikie muffles a laugh in the back of José’s neck.

The red in McCann’s cheeks deepens, but he keeps going. He drags his hand back up, slowly, a callus on his palm catching José in just the right place. 

José curses under his breath and squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Shit,” J-Up says, “shit,” and José opens his eyes again. He lets go of José’s thigh and pulls away, tugging the condom off, hand working over his cock. 

After he comes, he gets out of the bed and wanders off to the bathroom. José can hear water running in the sink basin.

Mikie lets out a sigh and slips his hands down José’s back. “Sit up,” he mumbles. “Ride me.”

José pushes himself up, bracing himself with a hand on Mikie’s thigh. McCann leans in and slips an arm behind his shoulders and José lets himself lean on him for a moment before turning and looking at Mikie over his shoulder. 

“I’m pretty close,” Mikie says. His face is flushed bright red and his dark hair is flattened on one side, stiff with sweat. 

José nods and squeezes his thigh.

He reaches for his cock, but McCann pushes his hand away.

“Let me.” He grips José by the shoulder with one hand and starts stroking him with the other one. 

After a little while, José starts losing his rhythm. McCann must sense he’s close and strokes down between José’s thighs, massaging José’s balls and moving his hand lower, over Mikie’s cock. José pulls a hand away from Mikie’s thigh to finish himself off the way he likes, the way he knows best. McCann’s fingers press gently in and José turns his head, bites hard on his shoulder to silence himself.

McCann works his fingers a little deeper, one hand bracing against José’s back. José bites down harder.

J-Up comes back into the room and crawls on the bed, a towel slung over his shoulder. 

“Damn,” he says, sounding grudgingly impressed. 

“C’mon, José,” McCann urges.

José lets go of his shoulder with his teeth and runs his tongue over the indentations he’s left behind in his skin. “Okay, okay, I just, I need—” he babbles against McCann’s shoulder.

“Whaddaya need?” J-Up asks, settling on the foot of the bed and draping his towel over his bare knee.

José can feel it, it’s not too far off, he just needs _more_. Just a little more. McCann’s fingers and Mikie’s cock feel so good, but he needs something more, something with a little bit of an edge.

José tips his head to the side and lifts a hand, letting it flutter over his neck. “James,” he says, “your teeth. I need—”

“You want me to mark you up,” McCann says, sounding dumbstruck. Awed.

“I need…” José brushes his fingers against McCann’s cheek.

“Okay,” he’s saying and then he’s leaning in and he’s fixing his mouth over José’s neck, under his jawline, and he’s biting down, he’s tugging at the skin there, and it hurts. 

José breathes out a long, satisfied sigh. It stings. And José can feel himself dance even closer to the edge.

José lifts his hips and brings them back down, sinks all the way down on Mikie’s cock. McCann moves his mouth to his shoulder and bites down hard there too.

“José, I’m gonna come,” Mikie gasps, gripping him by the thighs.

José crawls out of Mikie’s lap, with great effort, and helps him roll the condom off. He sits up against a mound of pillows and finishes himself off, as José rubs his thigh encouragingly. McCann’s hand rubs on his back in slow circles even as he starts biting at his shoulder, under his jawline again.

After Mikie’s spent, J-Up hands over the towel and Mikie mops himself up. He and J-Up slump bonelessly in the pile of pillows.

José slides a hand around his cock, trying not to let his disappointment show on his face. He’s not really _disappointed_ , he just misses… Well, he misses them. Their hands and their cocks and their—

McCann presses a hand against his chest and he looks over at him. 

“Yeah?” José stills his hand on himself.

“I can do this,” he says, and José’s not entirely sure which of them he’s talking to, José or himself. 

He lets McCann push him back until he hits the pillows. His damp shoulder brushes up against J-Up, who gets an arm behind José’s back. 

McCann looks at him for a moment, eyes focusing on some detail José can’t see from here. He leans down and presses his mouth against José’s, before straddling his thighs. José watches him, curious.

“Go on, McCannon,” J-Up goads him. 

Mikie laughs, thick and raspy and tired, on his other side.

McCann reaches down and tugs José closer, hooking his legs around his waist. José stares up at him. McCann reaches down and curves a hand over José’s calf.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” José asks. His voice sounds like it’s being pressed out of his lungs.

“If you want me to,” he says.

“Do it.” José runs his fingers over the back of the hand squeezing on his calf.

“I dunno if I’ll be any good,” he says, squeezing harder. “Kind of a tough act to follow.”

José pushes himself up on his elbows and digs his heels into McCann’s back. “I want you to.”

Something resolves itself behind McCann’s steely blue eyes and he nods. “All right. Lay back.”

José does as he’s told and lies back down, next to J-Up.

McCann settles over José and holds himself up over him on his arms. They look at each other for a moment as McCann snakes a hand around his cock and then he’s pushing his hips forward and then he’s sliding in. 

If José had thought he was overwhelmed before, he’s really feeling it now. Everything the four of them have done together is on his skin and in his blood, burning brightly. And now McCann is filling him, and now he’s stroking his hips firmly. And there’s the slightest bite of pain that ripples down José’s back too. 

McCann nudges his lips against José’s throat, then bites down gently. 

José clutches at his shoulders. He feels a hand on his chest, and another one petting his hair.

McCann pulls at the skin of José’s throat with his teeth and snaps his hips, driving the breath out of José’s lungs. José scratches his nails across his shoulders, down his back. The hand on José’s chest moves down to curl around his cock and starts stroking him off.

José’s orgasm sneaks up on him so quickly, it takes him by surprise. McCann stops moving his hips for a moment and J-Up works him through it, stroking him until José gently nudges his hand away.

He lies there, shivering, as he comes back down. McCann’s weight is heavy and warm on top of him. 

“Why are you stopping,” José mutters, tapping at McCann’s knee.

He presses his hands over José’s chest and looks down at him. “Hm?”

“Keep going. You didn’t get off yet,” José sighs.

McCann starts to protest. “But—”

“Go on.” José nods at him, flashes him a sliver of a smile. 

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yeah.” José rubs his thigh.

“Okay.”

He leans back down and slips an arm around José’s waist, gathering him against his chest. José hooks his arms around his shoulders and buries his face in his neck. He hooks his ankles behind McCann’s back.

It’s not an easy position. José’s a little sore and still kind of sensitive from his own orgasm. And McCann’s kind of big and everywhere and the ache that had been pleasant earlier is dancing on the edge of _too much_. José digs his fingers into his back and rides him as best he can, as McCann gives shallow thrusts of his hips, like he’s holding back, being careful about pushing José too hard. 

McCann’s being gentle but it’s still almost too much. Part of José wishes McCann would just pin him down against the mattress and take what he needs from him. A louder part of José wants him to drag it out as long as he possibly can, until José’s delirious from it, coming apart at the seams.

Hands stroke down José’s sweaty back. They might be McCann’s or J-Up’s, José’s not sure.

McCann’s mouth brushes against José’s cheek. “I’m gettin’ close,” he says.

“Good.” José pushes away just enough to rest his palms on McCann’s chest. He closes his hands around José’s wrists.

José pulls his hands away from McCann’s to brace himself on his shoulders and bring himself back down on his cock. He does it again, lifting his hips, coming back down, tightening his fingers on his shoulders, catching his gaze and not letting go. 

If José hadn’t already come he thinks that—staring into McCann’s eyes while he fucks him—would be enough to get him hard again. As it is, he only feels faint stirrings.

McCann slides his hands over José’s hips and holds him still. His breathing is ragged. “José,” he says, “I’m—”

“Whaddaya need?” José asks.

They’re still looking at each other and José watches the flush on his cheeks deepen slowly. 

“I—I need—” McCann cuts himself off and makes a soft frustrated noise. His hands tighten around José. 

José rubs his shoulder encouragingly. “Tell me.”

“Get off and lie back,” McCann says, pulling his hands away from José’s hips.

“Okay,” José says. He slips off of McCann and lies back on the bed, bracketed comfortably by J-Up’s shoulder on one side and a mound of pillows on the other. The smooth sheets are cool against his skin.

McCann leans over him, straddling his waist, a hand fisted around his cock. José watches as he works his fist over the head, idly touches himself even though he’s nowhere close to getting hard again.

McCann’s breath hitches and his hand starts moving faster over himself. J-Up drapes the towel over José’s chest and pillows his head on his shoulder. José thinks he’s sleeping, breathing even and steady, but he’s not sure. He reaches up and pats J-Up’s cheek.

McCann comes a short while later, all over José’s chest and stomach. He stays where he is, gasping for breath, with José pinned underneath him, fingers dipping into the mess on José’s chest and smearing it a bit as he tries to wipe it up. José rubs his thigh some more before moving his hand away.

It’s quiet now. Too quiet, José thinks, as J-Up’s breath rushes against his cheek slow and steady. He cranes his neck a bit to get a look at Mikie—kind of hard with McCann still sitting on him—but he’s dozing off too, an arm tucked under his head.

José pushes at his knee. “Get off, you’re heavy.”

“Thought you said you could bench press my weight,” McCann snipes, but he rolls off of José and onto his back next to him.

José slaps at his shoulder but he reaches up, knocking his hand away.

“I _can_ ,” José mumbles, sitting up and rubbing his fingers in his sweat-stiff hair.

“You can’t, but it’s okay,” McCann says, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his head.

José draws his knees to his chest and glares down at him. “I’ll prove you wrong.”

“Sure you will.” McCann reaches out, grabbing José by the wrist, and pulls him back down against his chest. “But for now, shut up and go the fuck to sleep.”

José settles in against his side, pulls J-Up’s arm over his waist and tucks McCann’s arm around his shoulders. He’d grab for Mikie too, but he’s too far away. 

José lets himself melt into the warmth of their bodies surrounding him, arms around him, and he drifts off.

***

The next morning, José makes them go back to the gym so that he can prove them wrong, once and for all.

“You’re gonna get someone killed,” Mikie calls out, hands cupped around his mouth. He looks delighted by the prospects.

“I can’t go on the D.L.,” J-Up says, squirming in José’s arms. He starts to slip and José bends his knees, trying to keep from losing him.

McCann leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, looking smug. “What was that about proving us wrong?”

José turns toward McCann, glaring at him. “I—”

He loses his grip around J-Up and he falls onto the padded mat underneath them, in a heap. No one says anything for a while.

Mikie and McCann share a meaningful _look_.

“José,” Mikie says, tipping his chin up and grinning, “round two. Whaddaya say.”

José helps J-Up off the mat and brushes his shoulders off. He looks at J-Up, then McCann and finally Mikie. They look back at him, and wait.

José nods. “I never back down from a challenge.”

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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